Champion
by KinkyWings
Summary: Short a champion for the joust, a desperate Prince Edward turns to a mysterious knight to deliver a much-needed victory, but at what cost? Will Edward choose propriety and do what he feels is right for his Kingdom, or will he fight for the love he wants and deserves? Age of Edward 2017 submission.


A/N: This is my entry for the Age of Edward 2017 competition, which won Judge Remedy25's pick! Beta'd by the wonderfully amazing SunflowerFran! I would be nowhere without her help! Before you ask, no this story is not being continued; the ending is meant to be vague and it is up to the reader's imagination as to who wins the war for Bella's hand. I have never competed in a competition before, and am so happy with how things turned out. Congrats to everyone who competed, and thank you to everyone who read those amazing stories!

Disclaimer: _The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

Champion

The Kingdom of Forks, aptly named after the fork in the road that divided the land into the high western region and the low eastern country, was abuzz with anticipation.

Each summer, lords, and ladies from both sides would gather for a week's worth of revelry and merriment at the traditional jousting festival. It was the only time tensions between both sides were assuaged. The city-born westerners withholding their sneering judgments of the easterners, who preferred to live a simpler life. Unfortunately, it was also the one time of year when Edward had to endure the presence of the most insufferable man of all ... Lord Aro.

The slithery villain craved the throne, and since he could not have it, he sought to debase it, which was why Edward always had to beat him at jousting. With Emmett on his side, a win was to be expected. Emmett rarely ever lost a match and had never once been thrown from his trusty, speckled stallion.

In the armory, Edward found his younger brother hunched over a bench, tightening the straps of his shin guards. Though Emmett was younger in years, he was physically bigger and stronger than Edward, nearly twice his size if Edward were to guess. Despite Emmett's impressive physique and intimidating stature, he was, in reality, the kindest most warm-hearted soul in the kingdom. Edward was aware that as much as Emmett loved sport and to roughhouse, he would much rather spend his days in merriment.

"Ready to practice?" Edward asked his brother who was now polishing his breastplate with uncharacteristic silence. In fact, Emmett seemed downright dreary. It was not a look that suited the jubilant man, a look that had Edward growing with concern. "Cheer up man! Normally you are chomping at the bit to get out in the thick of it."

"I am truly sorry, brother, but I cannot joust for you."

Emmett looked so miserable that any possibility of this being a joke was immediately squelched.

"What?" Edward spluttered, feeling his blood run cold. "Why ever not?"

"Lord Jasper Hale has asked me to be his champion, and seeing as though his sister, Lady Rosalie, is to be my bride, I could not deny him," Emmett replied apologetically, his head ducked to avoid his brother's hurt gaze. "Besides, I do not seem to recall you asking."

It was true. Edward had not asked his brother, if only because he had assumed that Emmett would automatically have his back. His rejection stung like a betrayal, though Edward knew that the emotion was dramatic on his part. Emmett had every right to battle for his future family. However, that did not mean that Edward had to like it, or accept it.

"You are the best at the sport in all the lands! If I lose this competition to Lord Aro, then I will be made a mockery of," Edward bemoaned. "His sights have been set on father's throne since before I was born, and he has spent every waking moment since then trying to undermine my capability. If he wins, it will be another notch in his belt, another piece of ammunition in his quest for power. He must be stopped!"

"And that is quite a predicament. I feel for you brother, I truly do, but Lord Jasper has stakes in this joust as well. If you remember, it was he, who Lord Aro made a fool of last time."

"What do you suppose I do?" Edward implored, shaking his brother by the lapels in utter desperation. "Champions do not sprout from trees, and the contest is in two days' time!"

"Then you'd best get looking," Emmett replied with sympathy, patting his elder brother on the back thrice before plucking Edward's fingers from his shirt.

As Emmett sauntered towards the practice field, one truth was abundantly clear: Edward was doomed.

…

Three days later, the fanfare began at first sunrise.

Tents pitched in the brightest shades of red, orange, and yellow appeared to have popped up overnight, transforming the palace grounds into a showplace. Jugglers and jesters made rounds to distract the idle crowds as they waited for their seat in the audience. Vendors came out to sell their wares while servants held on tightly to the trains of their lady's gowns as they shopped the stalls and men chatted about topics they could not discuss in the presence of their wives. There was something to be enjoyed for any and all ages.

All except for Edward.

He had yet to find a suitable rider, and time was not on his side. Nerves had twisted his stomach into uncomfortable knots. Just earlier that morning he had debated calling in the royal physician to make sure the stress was not giving him ulcers or any other malady.

Edward remained a safe distance from the merriment, careful to avoid recognition. It would not do to have the common folk recognize their prince in such an unseemly manner. He was used to being cool, calm, and collected - everything the future king should be and just as his father was. Now, hair disheveled from numerous pullings and clothes rumpled from a night of pacing his chambers plotting how to pull off the impossible, he looked as though he was overcome with madness. And perhaps he was. For what fool, other than a mad one, would let a meaningless joust consume their body, mind, and soul?

Emmett looked to be having a grand time, smiling despite the shame Edward was bound to bring upon the family. Of course, Emmett had no reason to worry; he was jousting for a fine, wealthy lord with whom he was about to share ties. Lady Rosalie looked absolutely taken with Emmett, twirling a piece of her long blonde hair between her fingers as she laughed at every word of her betrothed. Lord Jasper was close behind to chaperone such a meeting, a brotherly hand placed lightly on his sister's shoulder. Not that Emmett seemed to mind, talking freely with both parties. Suddenly, Edward felt a pang of jealousy. Emmett had found a new family, which to dedicate his loyalty, one that would care for him regardless of whether he won or lost while Edward was left behind.

Unpleasant memories surfaced, and Edward briefly wondered about how his life could have been different had he accepted Irina's hand in marriage. She was a fickle princess from a wintery, far off land who cared not for the wet, humid nature of Forks. But she was as beautiful as snowfall on a sunny morning and would have made an excellent match for Edward. She would have borne him many strong sons just as his father had always wanted. Instead, Edward rejected Irina's advances and sent her home near tears once she realized that her stay had been for naught.

Not for the first time, Edward craved what he could have had - what Emmett now so freely flaunted. He could have had a wife and children to think of, better things to preoccupy his time than worrying about champions and besting a Lord thrice his age.

Upon seeing his kin, Emmett bid his future bride farewell and strode off to where Edward stood to brood in the shadows.

"Have you found a champion, brother?"

"I am working on it," Edward grumbled, eyes searching the crowd for any potential volunteers.

"The joust is about to start any minute!" Emmett exclaimed, Edward desperately trying to muffle his brother's outburst before they drew attention from the other competitors. "What in God's name are you going to do?"

"I do not know," Edward admitted, frantic feelings stirring in Emmett's presence. "Does Lord Jasper happen to have a spare knight to lend? Even a squire would do."

"Afraid not," Emmett lamented. "Lord Aro stole his best knight in the last joust."

"Curse the man!" Edward spat, hating the pompous Lord even more than before.

Emmett frowned deeply, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder as he delivered bad news.

"As much as it will pain you brother, you will have to withdraw from the competition."

"I refuse."

"It is either that or wear the armor yourself, and you know father will not permit both his heir and his spare to put themselves in harm's way," Emmett lectured, shaking Edward for good measure, so he knew his elder brother had his full attention and was not tuning him out. "Consider it Edward. There is more to lose here than your pride."

Edward knew his brother had a point. It was risky to joust without proper training, and Edward knew next to nothing about the mechanics of the actual sport. He had always had Emmett for that. If he went into the arena, he would be walking towards his own death. However, that did not mean he was going to give up willingly.

Lord Aro had already found his seat, his ostentatious robes easy to spot even amongst a sea of finery. A tall, pale man, Lord Aro was not the most attractive, with beady sunken eyes and hair so greased one could light a fire on the slick strands. He traveled, per usual, with a following of servants, squires, and lesser nobles - all to keep him entertained when he grew tired of winning. The insincerity of their revelry annoyed even the most patient of spectators.

Rumors of the gruesome rise to his title had long since stopped circulating in favor of other scandalous affairs. But every once in a blue moon the story would be told of how the pale, serpentine man had slit the throats of both his elder brothers while they slept in order to steal their father's lands for himself. He had no issue; his wife a mute decoration at his side. He was a man who craved only power, and for many years now, he craved the one power he could never have: the Kingship of Forks.

Bitter, Edward left his brother to prepare while he trudged his way up the steps to the royal box. His father, King Carlisle was already seated on the makeshift throne, long red cape tossed over the edges so that it puddled at his feet like a carpet. Queen Esme would have sat in the seat to his left, but Edward's stepmother refused to attend such events, claiming some sort of moral indecency. Edward claimed the one to the right, envying how relaxed and carefree his father seemed, how his hazel eyes scanned his subjects serenely. Blond hair had long since started giving way to silver, but Edward knew that his father still had many, good years of ruling left in him. Perhaps, if Edward could rid himself of petty rivalries as his father had, then he could live a long lustrous life as well.

First to compete was a pair of novices, both with no hope of winning. No one placed bets on them either, knowing they were only fighting to whet the appetites of the gamblers and spectators for what was to come.

Each round, the stakes were raised, and the competition grew fiercer. When it came time for Emmett's round, one rider had already been severely injured. The poor man had been hit in the head, his bloody body being dragged off the field quickly as not to dampen the mood with the stench of impending death.

The younger prince rode into the arena to the cheers of his people, speckled stallion turning up dirt with each rear of its hooves. He approached the crowd where his betrothed sat and asked for her favors, as per tradition. Lady Rosalie leaned forward and tied the pale pink ribbon along the narrow part of Emmett's lance. She was positively giddy, cheeks blushing an apple red that could be spotted from where Edward sat. Once Emmett cantered off towards his lane, her lady friends chittered and fanned themselves, no doubt gossiping about her knight.

Soon after, the trumpets sounded, and both participants went to their rightful end of the arena. Emmett's horse reared in anticipation, ready to face the opponent head on. The opposing knight rode for another, well-respected family, though the man really stood no chance at winning. He was doomed the moment the joust commenced, and Emmett's horse charged forward at full speed, his total weight put behind the wooden lance. Emmett struck the man on his side, sending him slipping off his saddle and rolling through the dirt - quite a painful landing considering the metal armor.

Lord Jasper seemed pleased, his gaze meeting Emmett approvingly while his betrothed, Lady Alice Brandon, clapped politely, bouncing animatedly on her toes. Despite the earlier sting of betrayal, Edward felt a swell of pride in seeing his brother victorious. King Carlisle looked upon the scene fondly, a father's pride shining fiercely in his eyes.

That pride was short lived, for, in the next match, Lord Aro's knight felled Emmett in a single swoop. It was a dirty move, the lance sticking straight to the gut, sending Emmett flying into the dirt, his horse bucking and whining at the loss of its master. The crowd oohed and gasped, no one expecting to see the undefeated prince lose at his own sport.

Edward stood from his seat, worried for his brother's well-being. Lady Rosalie looked as though she might faint while Lord Jasper's mouth was pursed in a disappointed line. The tension was relieved when Emmett finally sat up, groaning as he did so. While his body would be fine, his ego would not. Lord Aro had won, sending his knight to compete against Edward's nonexistent one in the final round.

"Edward, my son, present your champion," King Carlisle instructed.

At first, there was the polite droning of applause followed by the familiar quiet of anticipation. Heads craned to see who would emerge from around the bend.

No one came.

"Who rides for the Prince of Forks?" King Carlisle asked once more, not used to such silence at a joust.

This was it.

Edward would be forced to withdraw in front of the entire kingdom and be made a coward. But there was no other choice. No one had come for him in his eleventh hour. Emmett was not allowed to compete for two houses.

It was over.

Until it wasn't.

"I ride for the Prince!" came a voice from afar.

Turning, Edward saw a knight on horseback trotting his way. The knight was small in stature, not much muscle to fill the shining silver breastplate. A helmet concealed his face, a chainmail mask obscuring everything except a set of dark brown eyes. His arms were like twigs; how he could manage to lift the lance was unknown. Edward's champion was unassuming, completely underwhelming, and overall…embarrassing.

Edward heard Lord Aro's trill of laughter from behind him, the pasty man barely concealing his mirth at what he assumed to be an easy victory.

"Very well!" King Carlisle agreed once the initial shock wore off. He gestured to the small knight. "We have our champions! Let the joust commence!"

"Will you grant me the honor of wearing your favor, My Liege?" the knight asked. His voice was high for a male, making Edward wondered if someone had found a boy to champion for him. But it was too late to worry about the legalities of age.

His was an unusual request, but one that would be considered rude to reject. Edward had nothing to give his champion other than the ruby-encrusted cross around his neck. Thinking the knight could use all the luck and faith he could get his hands on, Edward removed the intricate gold chain and passed the cross over to the knight who quickly clasped the jewelry around his neck despite the thick leather gloves. After one more look at the King, off he rode into battle.

Both champions were met with cheers. Bets were placed, and drinks were poured for guests ready to be entertained. It was obvious which rider everyone waged their money on. No one, not even Edward's own father, thought he would be able to win this match with a runt on a dappled mare.

Edward shielded his eyes, unable to watch the destruction about to unfold.

Except the destruction never came.

The smaller knight, outmatched in every conceivable way, was able to slip his way past Lord Aro's champion and impale the lance into the opponent's chest, knocking the bigger man to his ass. His horse reared, the proud black stallion running down the track as it had been trained to do while its rider nursed his wounds. Meanwhile, Edward's champion emerged unharmed, the clear victor.

The crowd erupted into applause. Flowers and kerchiefs and other various tokens of affection were tossed into the arena. Many inquired the name of the mysterious rider who bested the best.

"Outrage!" Lord Aro shouted, rising to his feet with startling quickness. "I demand another round!"

"Whatever for?" King Carlisle asked confused as to why the gaming mood was being ruined.

"No knight that small can best one twice his size unaided!" Lord Aro accused, pointing a bony finger in Edward's direction. "Clearly the boy has cheated!"

"You forget yourself," King Carlisle warned, his tone losing its relaxed manner to take on a quarreling edge. "My son is many things, but he is not a cheat. You lost this match fair and square, accept it. Now sit, Lord Aro, before you embarrass yourself further."

Unsatisfied, Lord Aro stormed back to his seat where he continued to throw a tantrum as primly as a man of his station could. Mostly it involved shooting Edward glares while he snapped at his servants and emptied goblets of wine.

"I offer you my heartfelt congratulations for a match well played," King Carlisle spoke to the knight as he rode up to collect the reward for his troubles, which were well deserved. "Tell me, under who did you train?"

"Captain Swan of the Knight's Guard."

"A good man," King Carlisle mused. "He would be proud to see one of his own come so far."

"One can hope, My King."

King Carlisle inclined his head, allowing the champion to move on to approach his patron. Edward had already procured the necessary payment, plus extra for such short notice and a miraculous performance. Truly, Edward owed this knight far more than he could ever convey or put into monetary means.

"I commend you for your bravery, and thank you for a swift victory in my name," Edward said as his champion came to pause in front of him, though he was still stunned by the win to feel much else. His hand trembled with the after effects of anxiety as he extended the pouch of gold. "For your services rendered."

The knight did not take it.

In fact, he pushed it away.

"I require no gold," came the still-surprisingly light voice from behind the mask. "My price, My Liege, is you."

"Me?" Edward sputtered, taken aback.

Dark eyes peered down from behind the curtain of chainmail, flickering with delight.

"I believe it is a fair deal - a Prince for a champion."

"I will not be held for some fool's ransom," Edward refused, affronted by the rider's brazen behavior.

"Fear not, My Liege. It is not your crown I seek," the rider chuckled.

"Then what is it you want, other than to play games?"

Even from beneath that helmet, Edward could see the mirth that sparkled in those dark brown eyes, the smile that left a vague impression through the chainmail. He felt as though he were being toyed with. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.

"Come," the rider instructed, pulling the reins on his horse as he turned towards the stables. "We shall have words in a more civil arena."

"And where pray tell, is that?"

"Your chambers, of course," he called as he trotted off.

…

The walk to his chambers was the longest of Edward's life. On his way, he contemplated numerous ways in which to have the insolent knight arrested or flogged in the public square. Such disrespect to royalty, champion or not, needed to be corrected. Edward would not have the entire public see him as weak simply because he scurried off after a runt on a horse like a dog with its tail between its legs.

His father had given him a skeptical glance as Edward had made his way out of the royal box. The King wanted to know what his son was up to, why he was skipping out early on the revels of his victory. However, Edward was not worried about being missed. Emmett was there to distract from his absence, and Edward was sure that by this point his brother was already half way through a tankard of mead, reminding everyone who the more amusing brother was.

When Edward reached his chambers, he found the door was already propped open.

True to his word, the champion stood at attention in the center of the room, identity still shielded by a helmet. How he navigated his way through the palace to find him, Edward did not know.

"I am only just realizing that we were not properly introduced," Edward started, trying to be cordial while his blood was boiling at the humiliation of the situation. He had never been so commanded by anyone in his life.

"I am Edward of House Cullen, Prince of Forks. And you are?"

Reaching upward to remove his helmet, the metal fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

Only to reveal that the boy was not a boy at all.

Edward's champion was a maiden, and an alluring one at that. Her long brown hair tumbled down her back in rich chocolate curls that were only slightly darker than her irises. Her long eyelashes fanned across her cheeks, Cupid 's bow lips pulled up in a half-smile as she reveled in Edward's surprise.

"You may call me Isabella," she said, her voice much lighter now that it was free from the distortion of the metal helmet.

As she rid herself of armor, she was clothed in a simple white tunic, dark leather pants, and scuffed boots. Her face was free of rouge or powders that most of the ladies wore to attract the opposite sex. Were it not for her long hair spilling over narrow shoulders, Edward would have been inclined to believe her ruse. But now that he saw the differences - the high cheekbones, the slender frame, and subtle curves - it was impossible to believe that he ever thought she was a knight

Her expression was anticipatory, dark eyes never wavering from his as she awaited his move. This was her game, and it was his turn.

Edward scoffed. "Is that all? Isabella?"

"Were you expecting more, Edward of House Cullen, Prince of Forks?"

She openly mocked him. It was an experience Edward had never had before, and not one he entirely liked. It only further soured his mood.

"What is it you want, Isabella?" Edward demanded, standing his ground to the impudent lady before him. "I can double your weight in gold if you so desire, send you home with more jewels than most ladies at court will ever see in ten lifetimes. Does any of that sound appealing?"

"What use do I have for gold or fancy things?" she asked, cocking her head to the side as if pondering his request.

"Many women find them useful."

"I am not many women."

"I am starting to believe that," Edward said darkly, not enjoying being pulled around and toyed with as if he were a ball of string to a cat. "So, if you do not desire material things, how can I pay you?"

"It is not material things I covet, but mortal," Isabella said, her voice a whisper as she encroached upon his space. Her hands reached out to touch him, fingers splaying over the place on his chest where his heart was beating wildly in its cage. Her eyes, so much darker and infinitely wilder, were fueled with a fire unlike any other he had seen before. This fire burned only for him and was stoked higher with every passing second. "Mortal and man."

Lips soft and sweet as sin descended upon his for the briefest of seconds before Edward realized what was happening and put an end to it.

"What in God's name are you playing at?" Edward demanded, shoving her a good distance away.

He should have seen this coming! How many young women had tried the exact same tactics only to be rebuked? There were too many to count, Irina on that list. Why? Why not put up more of a fight?

"My Liege, you wound me," Isabella pouted, mock hurt flashing through the embers that still smoldered.

His stomach lurched. What was it about this woman that suddenly made his tongue feel as if it weighed a ton? That made his spine tingle and skin jump?

"I refuse your price. What say you that?" Edward spat, putting more distance between them. The further away she was, the clearer he could think. Though in truth, most of his thoughts involved what Isabella looked like under that blouse…

"No."

Her statement jolted Edward back to the present, all less than holy thoughts temporarily forgotten.

"No?"

"No," she repeated, stepping closer and much more assuredly into his space. "I do not believe you refuse."

"You just heard me utter the word."

"Your mouth says one thing, but your eyes say another," she replied, studying him intently. "Your breath…it quickens in my presence. And your heart…your traitorous heart…it races beneath my palm."

Her fingers slipped between the laces of his shirt, bare fingers scraping across the hair on his chest and Edward swore his entire body erupted into flames.

"Tell me once more you do not want to bed me, and I shall leave this room without another word," she said quietly, so much so that he would not have heard had they not been mere breaths apart. "Look at me and tell me you feel none of what I said, and I am gone."

Edward could not say those things.

Try as he might, his body would not let him deny himself this truth. He grabbed a fistful of those gorgeous brown curls and pulled Isabella to him. Her yelp of surprise was more than satisfying, a smile creeping up his lips as she gave into him. While she was in control before, this time, he led the way, deepening the kiss as he pushed her towards the bed. Her teeth nipped playfully at his bottom lip as she pulled back, pupils blown wide in arousal.

"Surely you have had your way with many women; the ladies of the court speak highly of you, the Prince of Forks. They whisper your name like a secret, wear your sigil on their breasts and wave their kerchiefs in your direction, only to be snubbed," Isabella spoke in even, melodic tones as she mocked her peers. Her fingers danced at the hem of his shirt, pulling up the fabric bit by bit until her hands were splayed across the taut muscles of his abdomen. "I wonder what they would think now, to see me in your bed, stealing what they have so wrongfully claimed as theirs."

"No woman has claimed me - heart, body or soul."

"No?" Isabella asked, astonished. Her eyes went wide and playful. "Are you still a virgin, My Liege?"

"Are you not?"

"Does it matter?" she fired back, equal parts coy and fierce. "Does my lack of maidenhood quell your desire? Your status does the opposite to me, for I admit that the untouched quality of your skin has a hypnotic appeal."

Isabella's hands reached further and further until Edward had no choice but to rid himself of his shirt altogether. She helped him pull it over his head, ruffling his reddish brown hair in the process. He knew his physique was in good form due to his relentless training, but Isabella's wide-eyed response was more than gratifying. Her hunger was palpable, so much so that it was slightly terrifying. Her fingers hovered over the skin, as if unsure of where to explore first.

Edward took the choice away, pulling her back into another bruising kiss. It was his turn to rid her of a garment, his hands roaming down her back in an attempt to pull off her own shirt. It was easy enough to slip the oversized garment off, but to his surprise, another layer of fabric covered her breasts.

 _So, that was how she gave off such a masculine illusion_ , Edward thought, trying to find where the strip of fabric ended.

He found purchase near the small of her back, pulling at the fraying thread. Obligingly, she spun slowly as to unravel herself from her illusion. The binding fell to her feet in a heap, revealing a pair of small, yet pert breasts. Rosy nipples poked out, and Edward could not help but to touch one, catching it gently between his thumb and forefinger. Isabella's eyes fluttered to a close as she pressed into the touch.

They fell back onto the bed, Isabella lying prone beneath him. There, Edward bestowed her neck with kisses, trailing his way down her stomach. He stopped upon each breast to lavish it with attention before continuing his path, which did not stop until he reached the buckle of her belt. Silently, he looked up for her approval, which she gave with a nod of her head. He undid the belt and deposited it on the floor where it landed with a heavy thud. Isabella giggled as Edward pulled off her boots so that he could tug down her trousers. Then, and only then, was she completely and unashamedly bare to him.

Though the sight was angelic, Edward realized he had no idea what to do.

He hesitated long enough for Isabella to take notice. She smiled indulgently and sat up on her elbows, beckoning him into the cradle of her thighs.

"Touch me," she instructed equal parts seductress and seduced.

"There is hair there," he said rather bluntly, much like a child.

"Yes," she giggled a bit breathlessly. "It is a garden that every woman possesses, which hides the secrets of femininity that only the bravest of men can find…if they go looking."

Using her fingers, she revealed to Edward glistening layers of plump, pink flesh. Edward felt the air rip from his chest, a lust stronger than any other awakening his slumbering desire. He had the urge to fall to his knees and worship the space between Isabella's legs, to touch and taste every inch of her. A small, bulbous mound near the top of her folds protruded further than the rest, and he could no longer keep himself at bay. He reached a finger down to swipe against it cautiously; barely a ghost of a touch yet Isabella elicited the most tormented of moans. His finger came back slick and wet with her desire. His tongue darted from his lips to taste her, sweeter than any fruit.

"Again," she pleaded, head tossing against the pillow in abandon.

Edward could not deny her.

Soon, he was lost in the siren song of her moans, enraptured by the way her body arched off the bed as she chased her pleasure.

Their moves became frenzied. In her lust-addled state, Isabella's hands fumbled for his belt, desperate to be even closer. Edward was not much better, their trembling hands making a mess of such a simple task. After much effort, the belt fell to the floor alongside Isabella's. She grasped at the fabric near the curve of his ass, shoving his trousers past his thighs. He had to sit to rid himself of the rest, quickly returning once the garment was gone. With nothing left between them, Edward felt a wave of trepidation wash over him. Despite the aching throb between his legs, there remained the slight remnants of uncertainty.

Then, Isabella's hand wrapped around his length and his vision exploded into white. A pleasure so intense wracked him that it banished all thoughts other than Isabella. There was no more uncertainty. This was what he wanted, and he could wait no longer.

"Isabella…"

He forced his gaze to say what his mouth would not. He willed her to understand his body, which was screaming to be inside her. Blessedly, her eyes conveyed the same need, and she flipped them over so that she was the one on top, her hips straddling his.

"Do you consent?" she asked, dark eyes peering down at him through hooded lids. "Do you want me?"

"Yes," Edward breathed, unable to do anything else. He couldn't even move lest he break the illusion of the gorgeous creature above him.

She sheathed herself over him, taking him deep inside her body. He nearly came from the sensation alone and felt a great sense of pride when he didn't.

"God…Isabella…" Edward moaned, hips canting upward, seeking more of what her body could give.

A hand reached forward, brushing its way up her taut stomach to the dip of her belly button and further still until it reached just under the dip of her left breast. Fingers splayed over the mound until he found what lied underneath, the steady thrum he could now feel pulsing through his own body through their shared connection.

"I can feel your heartbeat," he breathed with wonder.

Then she started to move, and all rational thought that remained flew out the window.

Her hips were skilled in this dance, this push and pull that had both of their chests heaving and breaths coming in labored pants. One set of hands were laced and pressed firmly down into the mattress, grips so tight that Edward could feel her nails digging crescent moons into his palms, nearly drawing blood. The other hands were elsewhere: groping at her skin, her waist, her breasts. Her own hand dared to reach down to pleasure herself, but he yanked it away, replacing it with his own. She mewled at his touch, overwhelming sensations nearly too much to bear.

She arched her back, as she cried out his name, hips rolling frantically into his to find her release. The sight took Edward's breath away, and was exactly what he needed to push himself over into bliss.

She pulled off before he finished, spilling onto his chest. He wiped away the mess with a corner of the sheet, no energy to get up or do anything else. Isabella fell limply to his side, her skin feverishly hot as she tucked her body against his. Both of them laid there, doing nothing but listening to the other breathe, basking in the afterglow of their affair.

Payment in full.

"My father is going to kill me," she laughed as she stared up at the ceiling. Edward decided it was the loveliest sound he had ever heard.

"Why?"

"Because he hates it when I joust. He thinks it's unbecoming of a lady to appear in such an unrefined manner."

"Then why do it?" Edward asked, the questions burning on his tongue since she first revealed herself. "Why take the risk?"

"Besides the fact that I am good at it? I was angry with my father for a great many reasons. I often sport to spite him, but I also do it to feel free," Isabella explained, her gaze focused on the ceiling above. "For women of my stature, life is limited to a very short list of activities, and there is very little that brings me joy inside this gilded cage."

"What exactly is your stature, Lady Isabella?"

Once again, he was faced with the mystery of her identity. While not an exceedingly common name, she could not have been the only Isabella at Court. At least, he assumed she was at Court, at least from what he could gather from her limited words; albeit the most interesting, and unorthodox lady he had ever encountered.

Edward had always been sought after by ladies of the gentry. When he passed, they would call his name or laugh to gain his attention – all the tricks women played to gain the interest of their male counterparts. It was textbook; in fact, Edward had once read an entire tome about the female mind and how it worked. Though, after meeting Isabella, he doubted he could give it much credibility. She shattered every preconceived notion he ever held about women. He had the idea she intended herself to be that way.

"You shall find out quite soon I believe. That is, if you decide to attend the banquet," she teased, fingers idly drawing circles on the nearest portion of his exposed skin. "That you do not know of my reputation gives me cause to assume you spend the majority of your time outside Court."

"The Court bores me to tears. I would much rather find a quiet corner in the library and surround myself with the warmth of a fire and a good book." Edward confessed, not feeling the usual rush of shame follow.

Edward despised the Court. He hated the petty infighting and unimportant politics that distracted from the greater problems at hand. Edward much preferred to spend his time studying the laws of the land or actually performing his duties as heir instead of getting drunk and playing games at the tavern with the common folk like Emmett preferred.

He was so far removed from social circles that he could barely keep up with the stories of his father and brother. The fact that Edward could pick Lady Rosalie out amongst a sea of similar-looking maidens was a miracle. Emmett could have told him that his mystery maiden was the Queen of Volterra and he would not have known otherwise.

"You surprise me," Isabella said, a smile pulling at her lips as she gazed at him as if seeing Edward anew. "I would assume a man of your stature would rather be off killing things on a hunt or fighting your peers for sport."

"I believe you just described my brother," Edward replied with a chuckle. "But I...I find most joy out of simple things. The bird songs in the morning, fresh valley air and the mountain breeze, the smell of tarts in the oven, a dinner where my entire family is gathered round the table, a good book, good company… the list goes on. I have never been the ideal son. My father took many years to accept that I would never embody all that a first born should ... that I would always be more intellectually inclined instead of physically."

While it was easier to talk about now, the years where Edward failed in comparison to his younger brother still stung fresh. Though he and Emmett were never hostile, it was always clear which son their father preferred, which one he related to most. While Edward was charting maps of the kingdom, Emmett was hunting bear and large game to bring home for the feast. While Edward was stuck in meetings, Emmett was training with the guards in order to lead troops into battle should the need arise.

One son the leader, one the warrior; though Edward knew his father would have preferred if Edward were more of both. King Carlisle never voiced this, of course. Edward had just grown used to reading the lingering yearning in his father's eye. Of course, that yearning could have been for his mother, the wife he loved so dearly yet left them so quickly. Edward had often been told that he looked like his mother - it was in the eyes, they'd all say. That, and he had her temperament and her love for simple things. The resemblance had to bring King Carlisle some pain, and so Edward used that excuse as his crutch to let go of the majority of his hurt and resentment.

He was drawn from his thoughts by a tapping at his temple.

"Are you sure that you are intellectually inclined?" Isabella teased. "You had no way to know I would win. You could have ruined your reputation and renamed yourself the Mad Prince had I lost."

"Yes, but you didn't," Edward rebutted, capturing her hand and holding it in his own. "I have grown used to taking calculated risks. Choosing you was a better alternative to the embarrassment of not having a knight at all."

"Glad to know I am only good as a last resort," Isabella replied dryly, pulling her hand away. Edward took no offense to this. By this point, he knew her not to be truly offended, merely playing out a part for effect.

An idea popped into mind, and Edward rolled to his side so Isabella could not escape him. From this position, arms braced on either side of her head so that he hovered above, all he could see was her.

"My family owns lands by the sea – a summer chateau that is vacant for the rest of the season. From the top floor, you can watch the sun stretch over the horizon for miles on end, and there are stairs that lead straight into water so blue you see the fish swimming at the bottom."

"It sounds like heaven," Isabella said dreamily, and Edward could already see her envisioning the shoreline, smelling the salty air as the wind tore through her hair.

"Come with me," Edward suggested, never feeling more serious about something in his entire life. "I can take you there. We can spend our days on the sand, and our skin will turn brown, and we can make love to each other every night to the sound of waves as the sun sets."

"You have such a way with words…" Isabella mused, her expression turning wistful. "Makes a lady want to do things she should not."

Fingers reached up to comb through his russet hair. He took them and placed a kiss on the pad of each finger.

"Say the word, and we will go."

Instead of the expected jubilation, Isabella only fixed him with a sad, sympathetic gaze.

"Would it do to have someone of your station to be seen with someone like me?"

Her question was valid, though not a pleasant one. Not for the first time did he resent the politics of birth. He slumped back over and let out a huff.

"I know I should be grateful of my station, but in all honesty, I hate it. The rules are stifling, the talk is mundane, and there are far too many noses stuck in my business."

That issued a happier trill of laughter from Isabella.

"Unfortunately, after the spectacle at the joust, we have provided gossip for many balls to come."

"Somehow, I cannot be brought to care," Edward said, finding the words to be surprisingly true. Here, tangled in the sheets with this gorgeous woman at his side, he was completely unbothered. It was both uplifting and unsettling. "Do you want to hear something absolutely insane?"

"Always."

"I think I love you, Isabella."

Her body stiffened, then she sat upright, peering down at him curiously. Her brown eyes held no scorn, simply surprise.

"That is insane. You must call the physician immediately and rid yourself of such a silly notion."

"Is it truly silly?" he asked hopefully, leaning up on his elbows so they could be at eye level.

For a moment, Isabella hesitated.

"No, not at all. For I fear the insanity is mutual," she admitted, biting down on her lower lip enticingly though he was sure it was meant to be an innocent gesture. Edward's heart stuttered, an unknown feeling washing over him as he knew his sentiments were reciprocated. Isabella shoved playfully at his shoulder, blushing as she said, "I wouldn't give my life to champion for just any man."

"And your body as well, I would hope," Edward added, pulling away at the sheet she clutched to her chest. He had a craving for her, a need that could not be sated. Now that he knew he was welcome to more, he could not get enough.

"It is just a vessel," she dismissed, throwing her legs over his hips to grind slow, sensual circles into his lap. It was Edward's turn to bite his lip, head falling onto the pillows as he let out a soft moan - music to Isabella's ears. "It gives pleasure, and takes pleasure, though there is none as sweet as yours, My Liege."

"Somehow, I doubt that very much," Edward said wryly.

She was his first, his only, while he was the latest in an unknown string of lovers. How many others had she bedded with a wealth of experience? Someone had to have taught her all that she knew. Surely, she was capable of finding men besides piddling virgins with which to lie.

"You never did tell me…why have you never been anyone before?" Isabella asked, her own curiosity overpowering. "I meant what I said earlier. You could have any woman you desired. Do you truly not see the way they look at you, the way they covet you as if you are some rare prize to be won? The number of times I have heard your name spoken as the object of lust in certain circles…well, I lost count."

"I have always known about the interest, but I never bothered with it, because I knew it was mostly disingenuine," Edward explained, trying to put words to something he had long been struggling with. "I supposed I would recognize the woman I was meant to be with when I saw her, and to bother with anyone else would be treasonous since those women were only after the crown on my head."

"You were waiting for true love?" Isabella surmised.

"I suppose it sounds childish when you put it that way," Edward replied, feeling silly for being so frank with a woman who did not share his views on romance. He could not blame her for her skepticism. Most people would laugh if they knew their prince was holding out for a fairytale that more than likely would not come true. Though, now that he had Isabella in his arms, that tale was starting to look more and more like a reality.

"A man of your moral character is hard to come by in this world."

"So I have come to discover."

Silence washed over them as this new development was processed. Edward managed a smile, and Isabella peered shyly up at him. She chewed on her bottom lip, as if uncertain whether or not to voice her next words.

"Why me?"

There was no teasing tone, no playful smirk. Only sheer uncertainty, vulnerability, and a desire to know. If he was waiting for true love, then why give that all away for a saucy maiden on the back of a horse? Maybe, just maybe, he had been envisioning his fairy tale wrong. All this time, he had seen himself swooping in to impress a damsel, when he should have been looking for a knight in shining armor to sweep _him_ off his feet.

"I am not sure…" Edward confessed, cocking his head as he reached up to cup Isabella's jaw, marveling in the way she automatically leaned up into the touch. "I doubt I will ever know why, but I will always be glad that I did. I hope you feel the same...despite my novice performance."

"Nonsense! You do not give yourself enough credit," Isabella chided, gently slapping across his chest. "You did well for a first time, and I enjoyed myself very much."

Edward's cheeks went red at her words. Though he had just completed the act, somehow talking about intimacy still caused embarrassment and a degree of discomfort to flare.

"How do I know you haven't used such flattery on countless others?" Edward managed to tease through labored breaths. It was hard to form thoughts when he was on the receiving end of the attention from such a divine creature.

"You don't," she replied with a devious smirk.

"I do believe it is the Devil who has absconded with my heart," Edward amended his previous thoughts aloud. "If not he, then some fallen angel sent to do his bidding. For no mortal woman can have such smooth skin, or rosy cheeks, or pert breasts and supple curves…"

Isabella shuddered under his tender caress, fingers soft as whispers against her skin.

"Fear not, for I am neither. I am merely a hedge witch disguised as a fair maiden here to siphon your youth and spirit in my quest for immortality," she whispered into his ear with a giggle.

"Would immortality not be lonely?"

"That depends on who I spend it with."

"Spend your years with me," Edward implored, reaching up to touch her, hold her, and caress her.

By God…how did he know life without her?

"Edward…" she sighed his name like a prayer while he whispered sweet nothings into the skin at the crook of her neck.

"Say you will. Say that you are mine."

"I am yours," she sighed, canting her head back as she cried, "by God and the heavens above, I am yours."

…

Hours later, Edward parted ways with Isabella. Despite her protests to remain in bed for the rest of the night, he knew that he would be required to make an appearance at the feast arranged to celebrate the joust. He was the host after all, and though it pained him to abandon such a beautiful creature, he could not neglect his duty.

After some pouting, Isabella gathered her things and redressed. She assured him that she would be in attendance – if only to enjoy the satisfaction of her win - but there was a distant irritation to her words that soured the sweet promise of reunion. With one last kiss, Isabella snuck out the door, and Edward called in his servants to ready him for the night.

Edward was bathed and dressed in the finest clothes he owned, clad in black leather and navy velvet with silver embroidery. He studied his reflection in the mirror, the silver coronet upon his head making him look far more regal than he had felt in weeks. Perhaps it was due to the absence of stress or the earlier victory of the competition. Or perhaps it was due to the love of a good woman. All of the answers seemed appropriate, though he hoped that his family would not take too much notice of the change.

This was so much different than the arranged, artificial affection he conjured for Irina. Sure, it was unconventional and more than likely bound to get him in a world of trouble, but as soon as he envisioned his Isabella, her body splayed beneath him as a vision of Venus herself, all the risks became worth the consequences. All his life he had waited for the one woman which to commit himself to for the rest of his days, and now he had found her.

Inside, the hall was filled with hundreds of guests. Besides a few young ladies who chittered and waved his way, most did not notice his arrival, and those who wished for his company would eventually seek him out. For now, he could admire the lengths the servants had gone to in creating this magnificent feast. Entire tables were engulfed with arrangements of all varieties of food. Men and women from both the high and low countries intermingled, and for a moment, it felt as if Edward was inheriting one unified kingdom.

Wine was poured and passed, a goblet ending up in Edward's hand by the time he had crossed the room. The drink was sweet as the spices and perfumed flowers that mingled in the air. Perhaps he was being fanciful, but he had every reason to be.

Across the hall, laughter could be heard all the way to the rafters. Emmett's laughter was loudest of all, coming out in booms that could shake a mountain. As expected, Emmett was indeed inebriated, leaning up against a rather irritated Lord Jasper. Edward looked pityingly over at Lady Rosalie seated at his side who would have to deal with his personal brand of drunken affection for the remainder of the night, wishing her all the luck and good wishes he could from afar. He wished just the opposite on Lord Aro, whom he spied reclining in a chair directly across from the wine cellar while emptying goblets at an alarming pace. Blessedly, they did not make eye contact, and Edward continued on his way as his first bout of company found him.

"Edward, come," his father beckoned.

The King was entertaining a small group of men. One was older with long black hair, clad in drab leather bearing the sigil of the nomads who presided over the forest areas around the low country borders. A younger, stronger version of that man, his son perhaps, stood by his side. The last man was dressed in the fashion of the gentry, a cape clasped with the silver crest of the Knight's Guard thrown across his broad shoulders. His mustache was prominent and graying, as were his temples, though his dark eyes still held the strength of a younger man.

"Gentlemen, this is my son, Prince Edward," King Carlisle announced. "Edward, may I introduce Earl William of House Black and his eldest son, Jacob. As well as Sir Charles Swan, Captain of the Knight's Guard."

"It is an honor," Edward bowed to each separately, and they did so in kind.

He had heard much about the Knight's Guard, how their solemn vows to protect the kingdom lasted until death, whether it be in battle or in bed at the ripe age of ninety. The Captain was noted to be a man of particular strength and fortitude. He had stayed their enemies for two decades now and earned the King's respect in the form of a Lordship, though the man still preferred his military titles. There was respect to be had for such a man. The kingdom could use more men of his caliber, and Edward told him as much.

"Thank you, My Liege. What I do, I do for the love of King and country. I seek no reward other than the knowledge that all I hold dear is safe."

A woman approached the group, all men bowing out of respect. Edward recognized her immediately.

It was Isabella.

Gone were the peasant boots and leather. Instead, she wore a gown of crimson red, which matched the rouge on her lips and cheeks. Her hair was an elaborate array of braids and curls, held together by a bejeweled net. However, what drew Edward's attention - and immense satisfaction - was the ruby-encrusted gold cross that rested just above the dip of her breast. She wore it brazenly, proudly, uncaring as to who made the connection between her and the champion from earlier. Isabella rode for the Prince, and she was glad to wear his favor.

"My Lords, may I present my daughter, Isabella, the Lady of House Swan."

At her father's introduction, Isabella curtsied and inclined her head towards each man but did not say a word, instead, sliding over to stand next to Jacob.

"Pardon me, My Lady, but you look familiar," Edward said, knowing exactly who she was. "Were you at the competition by any chance?"

"My Liege, I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. My party had yet to arrive by the time the joust concluded. I am afraid we were not privy to the festivities," she replied cordially, casting her gaze aside, purposefully avoiding him. Edward was confused as to the distant behavior.

Had he unknowingly done something wrong? And why was she being deceitful? For whose sake was it? Surely it was neither for him nor the King. It was quite confounding.

"My daughter does not attend such events," Captain Swan said, though his voice was tight as if reminding Isabella of this fact.

"My apologies," Edward stated though his attention was still focused on Isabella.

"Jacob, I believe you had a matter to bring up with the King?" Earl William prompted his son.

Jacob startled into action. He puffed his chest and stepped forward, taking Isabella's hand to follow, which she did with mild reluctance. Her eyes kept darting toward Edward, who was only becoming more and more confused.

"Sire, earlier this day my dearest Isabella accepted my proposal, and we would request you blessing to marry."

King Carlisle seemed at a loss for words. The King recognized the ruby cross Isabella wore as Edward's gift to his champion - and briefly glanced to his son as if demanding some sort of explanation. But Edward had none. Here he was, thinking that Isabella was his when she already belonged to someone else.

He felt a fool.

"I see no reason why not," King Carlisle replied with a smile, much to Edward's distress. He knew his father had no purpose to impede the nuptials, and confessing to lying with the woman would be in poor taste for the future heir to the throne. "Many blessings to you both."

"Thank you, Sire!" Jacob exclaimed, positively jubilant. Isabella looked as if someone had signed her execution order.

The men looked pleased, looking upon the young couple with promise. Edward thought he was going to be sick. He needed to talk to Isabella.

Now.

"May I express my deepest, most heartfelt congratulations with a dance?" Edward asked Isabella, only then to remember the other man in her life. "If your betrothed does not protest."

Despite his obvious dislike and the inappropriate timing of the request, Jacob did not deny his prince. Most men had the sense not to steal another man's betrothed right after the engagement, but Edward hadn't the mind to care, and Jacob hadn't the spine to defend what was set to be his.

Jacob let Edward whisk Isabella off to where the other couples were already lining up. They stood across from one another, the tension palpable. Before, it was a tension that had them both clamoring for each other. Now, it was one that bordered on explosive, as if they were both hovering towards the edge of something dark and unknown, growing closer to falling with each step they took in time to the minstrel's strum.

Isabella's hand met his in the middle of the floor, and he seized his chance.

"Engaged?" Edward hissed, feeling stung. "You lie with me and conveniently forget to mention that you are tied to another man?"

"Not of my own choosing," she fired back, the grip on his hand crushing as she spun in slow half circles. "It is not so easy to get out of a marriage when it has already been arranged for you."

They parted, pairing off with other dancers for a few counts before coming back together. Isabella looked positively furious, both with him and herself. It was a feeling Edward was beginning to know all too well.

"This brute…he is to be your _husband_?"

Edward ground out the last word, the thought of someone else laying a hand on _his_ Isabella driving him mad.

"Not if a certain Prince has anything to say about it."

"Isabella, I cannot - " Edward cut himself off, trying to find the right words to say. Isabella's family was from the high country and the Blacks from the low. Tensions had been strained between the two for years, and as badly as he wanted her, he could not possibly start a war over a single woman. "It is not so simple. There are rules…there are treaties I am forbidden to break…and as the prince I cannot - "

She shushed him with a finger to his lips. The music kept going, but they had long since stopped dancing.

"Jacob is a good man. He is sweet and steady and sure. He will treat me with kindness and compassion, and I shall be happy as his bride," Isabella recited, though the words did not reflect equally with the pain in her eyes. "But he is not you. When I first set my eyes upon you, you were merely a conquest, a last hurrah before every choice was ripped from my hands. But then…when we were together…my heart shifted, and I knew I could never again be happy with another man."

"Isabella…" Edward groaned, torn between wanting to kill her and kiss her.

"Fight for me Edward," she insisted. "Fight for me as I fought for you. Do not let me slip away. Because I will marry Jacob and resent you every day I am his wife."

"This is madness," he whispered.

"No," she replied, lips tickling the shell of his ear as she spun past him.

"This is love."

The words were ghosts, barely there and then gone with swish of her red gown, leaving Edward alone on the dance floor.

Edward felt hollow, at a loss. Never in his life had he felt so conflicted. This day had brought him many tumultuous turns and victories, but none so striking as this. It was as if he were at war with his own heart. All the hours and lessons spent learning, mastering the art of ruling yet he was letting his heart rule him.

If he went to war for Isabella, there was no guaranteeing he would come out the victor. The low lands, though considered more primitive and lacking in resources, were far better numbered for battle. Jacob could summon a thousand men - the angry sons of underpaid farmers and shepherds and the like - for every hundred Edward could pay. Fighting was a fool's errand.

How disappointed his father would be for launching Forks into rebellion. How reckless it was to destroy and an entire kingdom over a woman. And yet, there Isabella stood across the room, leaning on Jacob's arm as he laughed and told others of their recent engagement. Edward's blood boiled. He had half a mind to storm up to Isabella and claim her for himself.

Then, the cretin leaned in for a kiss – a modest peck on the cheek but a kiss still – and that was it. Edward had made up his mind.

He was going to fight for Isabella as she had for him, consequences, his father, and the whole kingdom be damned. She was the first thing he had ever truly wanted for himself, and he was not going to let her be taken from him right in front of his eyes. Jacob had unknowingly started a battle for Isabella's heart, winner take all.

May the best man win.


End file.
